My sleep that night was far from restful. The Kennel was chilly, and I came half-awake many times as the lights flickered on as some group or another came or went. Twice I woke up thrashing at a bug that had wandered onto my face or belly, and there was always some noise from other girls doing the same. I’d had to piss in the middle of the night, too, crawling into the corner to avoid getting it on the girl in the cage under mine. So whenever I was woken up, it would have been too early. But I was pretty sure it was also, objectively, too early.
The lights went on, finally scattering the roaches that had been crawling everywhere all night. The Kennel’s attendants served another meal, then carefully brushed and mopped the room’s central aisle. The food was identical to that of last night, although the portion size was smaller.
Soon WH and KG were there to collect us, each of us standing with their help and stretching out our cramped muscles. MZ was the only one who looked like she’d slept soundly, and all of us were a mess, our hair wild and red impressions in our skin from the wire mesh, food stuck to our faces. So, naturally, our first walk took us to a bathroom.
Once we’d all gotten showers and enemas, the toilet slaves started to dress us again, but WH stopped them. “Leave off their bustiers today, please,” she instructed. I sighed as the slave buckled on my cinch, mittens, and shoes, leaving my boobs completely uncovered. She pushed my butt plug in, secured it with my thong, and finished off by drying my hair and gathering it in a ponytail. My classmates got the same treatment, and soon we were off through the corridors again.
KG and WH brought us to yet another room in the sprawling underground complex: a dim little room occupied only by eight tall, evil-looking items of furniture. The trainers stood each of us in one of them, sizing the five frames to fit their occupants and then fastening the restraints.
Bound on the frame, my wrists were shackled over my head and my ankles to the frame’s corners. There was enough slack in the chains that I could adjust my stance, but not step out of the frame or bend over. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, because I could just lean on the vertical board that had been built into the back of the frame, which was covered in pyramid-shaped metal studs. It actually reminded me of a certain kind of leather bracelet, although those were usually in chrome rather than in copper. They were hard and pointy, but not particularly sharp. If I distributed my weight across a large enough area, it wasn’t especially uncomfortable.
“We’re continuing yesterday’s lesson,” WH announced once we were all restrained. “This phase of training isn’t especially interesting for us, or pleasant for you girls, so I certainly hope you’ll show some improvement today. Now, to help your focus, we have some new gear for you.”
She and KG proceeded to equip each of us with a white leather hood. It tightly covered most of my head, fastening at the collar, with only my nose and chin left uncovered and a hole in the back through which passed my ponytail. With the hood in place, I couldn’t hear very well and I couldn’t see anything at all. I felt myself tensing up, waiting for the whip or the hit or whatever it was that was in store for me. The hood also included a rubber bit gag, which KG claimed was “more to keep you from biting your tongue than to keep you quiet.”
Indeed, shortly after my hood and gag were on I heard a scream from Chantrea, then one from EV, then TU and MZ. I braced myself to get hit, but this time the pain came from behind. I jumped, my chains rattling as I tried to pull away. I lost my balance a little, and my ass bumped up against the rear wall as I straightened and I jumped again. There was some kind of electric current coursing through the copper studs! When I touched them, a painful shock ran across that area. It didn’t help that the anchor for my wrist shackles was toward the back of the frame, so I had to stand up quite straight and rigid if I didn’t want to get shocked.
“Well, it seems like we’re all set to go with today’s lesson plan,” WH’s muted voice rang out. “We have quite a lengthy day ahead of us, so let’s get cracking.”
The trainers used a more varied set of implements today, I supposed because the hoods lent an added element of unpredictability. KG’s crop and WH’s red-tipped wand made plenty of appearances, but so did other implements. They had a couple leather whips, one with multiple, thinner tips and one whose single tip had a fierce sting. There were wooden and plastic paddles that whiffed through the air and cracked across my tits. I was subjected to barehanded slaps, pinches, and groping hands that probed over my body. They even had a second kind of metal wand, lit blue, whose electric shocks were even worse than those of the spikes.
Through all of it, I made every effort to stand straight and still. I found I could brace against the backboard with my mitten-covered hands without getting shocked, but that still took a lot of core strength, especially when I was getting knocked backward by the heavier implements. With no sense of sight, time became meaningless - just an endless march of little pains and humiliations.
A couple times over the course of what I could only assume was the day, our trainers took a short break, letting us drink water and take a piss and then leaving us unmolested for a few sweet minutes. Then they came back, gave us another drink, and got back to business.
After the second break, the trainers broke out a pot of some kind of oil. They brushed some on my mons pubis, nipples, neck, and armpits. It wasn’t long before a furious itch rose up in my skin. By now I was very tired, and the prickling burn of the itch drove me so crazy that I couldn’t stop from dancing in place, frantic. When my butt brushed against the backboard and provoked a shock, I screamed and thrashed in my bonds, which only led to getting shocked over and over, plus a jolt of the cattle prod straight to my tongue as punishment for losing my cool. Finally I collected myself enough to stand there, crying and shaking.
Judging from the other trainees’ screams, I wasn’t the only one who snapped like that. But there was another application of the oil, as well as plenty of other torments, before the next respite.
After letting me drink and piss, WH removed my gag and strapped a hollow tube in my mouth instead. “Don’t spill any,” she warned. The tube was connected to a funnel into which she poured food. I was pretty sure it was the same thing I’d eaten in the Kennel, just processed into a slurry and perhaps watered down. Still, even if I hadn’t been famished, I had little choice but to swallow it down.
The meal break was worrying in itself, though. We hadn’t gotten one yesterday, so if we were on a two-meal daily schedule, this session was extending for an exceedingly long time. At this point my feet were in serious pain, not to mention all the bruises and welts from the various punishments that had been inflicted on me.
At the end of the respite, I was relieved to feel KG removing my shackles. It didn’t last long, however, because she only turned me around to face backward, adjusted the wrist restraints, and chained me back up. I barely restrained a long groan of frustration. Now, it was leaning forward I had to avoid, and any slip-ups would shock the same places I had been getting whipped and pinched and poked all day. For once, I was thankful that my thong restrained my dick as it did.
I was considering just passing out on the spot and letting the shocks come as they may, when I felt a needle slide into one of my ass cheeks. “What is that?” I demanded, only to be ignored. At least until the needle was removed and I was punished with more of the itching oil applied at the nape of my neck and my tailbone. I writhed in pain for several minutes before realizing the effect the shot was having on me. I was restless, jittery, and could ignore the pain in my feet to stand up straight. It was almost pleasant, until one of the trainers began paddling my ass. I couldn’t ignore this fresh pain at all, it was worse than before! I wanted to scream, to jump out of my skin, but I couldn’t. I just held myself in place, my body perfectly responsive to my will but my mind contorting madly.
This new stimulant-fueled torture lasted through another short break. My mind was hazy, but my body was strong. When the drug began to wear off, though, I knew I couldn’t keep going. Each blow and prickle drove me to flinch right into the backboard. My nipples got the worst of the shocks, but many times I fell practically flat against the studs, and it took me seconds of unbearable torment to pick myself up.
When WH finally unshackled me from the frame, I fell to the ground and passed out.
THIS “RESISTANCE TRAINING,” as WH called it, went on for about eight more days. We slept fitfully in the Kennel and were taken each day to some little dungeon to get tortured. I began to really hate the rooms with mirrors. Seeing myself losing weight, losing hope, a wild look creeping into my eyes even as I remained a perfect little sex object - I preferred being hooded to that experience.
In a couple sessions, I was linked in a circle with all my classmates. Clips on my nipples were each linked to that of one of my neighbors, as were a pair of clips on my scrotum. Our trainers tormented us as normal, and the tugging of the wires linking us served to punish us all whenever one of us flinched. Most days, though, were essentially the same as the first two. Without enough rest to recover fully between each session, the endless torture became a blur.
One day our trainers announced it was time for a final test of our abilities. “Of course we could have done this a day or two earlier,” KG groused, “if you had learned your lessons a little faster.”
WH patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll demonstrate plenty of skill today, and we can move on to more interesting aspects of the training,” she said. “So let’s get to business, yeah?”
My classmates and I were each suspended by our wrists and ankles, attached with wide leather cuffs to a large steel hoop suspended in the center of a bizarre contraption. Each hoop was surrounded by a spherical cage that reminded me of the latitude and longitude lines of a globe, although the wires were so thin and far apart it wouldn’t make much of a restraint. (In fact KG and WH had easily pushed them aside in order to get me on the hoop in the first place.) They did, however, bristle with about two dozen narrow prongs pointed toward the sphere’s center. Which was me, hung there completely naked but for the cuffs stretching me spread-eagle and a bit gag that would keep me from biting my tongue. Most of the time, I would rather be naked than wear the humiliating and uncomfortable training uniform. Today, though, I felt exposed and vulnerable.
“Let me explain our little test,” said WH when all five of us were bound in place. She stood at the center of the circle in which the five globes had been arranged. “You’re stretched out on those wheels, but there’s still just enough wiggle room that you can either hold yourself rigid in their center, or relax and let your body sag slightly in one direction or another. Your job is to do the former, because the devices surrounding you will keep a record of when any part of your body passes within range of any of the prongs. You’ll be graded collectively, and penalized for any such mistake. Each mistake after the first within a few seconds of each other will be penalized more harshly.” She paused, regarding each of us. “Also, you fail if you piss yourself. Do you understand?”
“Mistress?” I asked. “Will we be alerted if we fail to hold ourselves in place?”
“Absolutely,” WH said placidly. When no more questions were forthcoming, she glanced at KG. “All right, your test begins now!” KG flicked a switch fixed to one of the concrete walls, which set the wire globes rotating around us. Then she and WH left the room, turning the lights off on their way out.
Seconds later, a glowing arc of electricity illuminated MZ’s flank, and she yelled. Surprised, I must have slackened myself, because I felt a sharp zap to one ass cheek. I thrashed in my bonds for a moment, causing electricity to snap at my back and against one arm, before becoming centered again. EV had done the same.
I realized that not only was I to be notified of our infractions via Tesla-esque electric shocks, but the ring I was affixed to was steadily rotating. Every couple minutes I turned upside down, then right side up again, demanding I flex different muscles in order to hold myself steady. None of us were very successful at keeping from being shocked - it seemed that even a slight shift in posture would get us zapped. But at least we were mostly able to avoid wriggling around any further in their aftermath, so the increased penalty for consecutive zaps wouldn’t apply. I hoped not, anyway. Between the darkness, the lack of any clock, and the vagueness of “a few seconds” I couldn’t be sure.
For once, there was no punishment meted out for making noise, so the soft zapping sounds coming from the prongs were mixed with grunts of effort, screams, and muttered epithets. It turned out that TU had an extensive vocabulary of swear words in Russian, or some similar language. Despite the fact that we were each occupied with the struggle of keeping our bodies under control, it was the first chance we’d gotten to talk to each other unrestricted.
“Chantrea,” I muttered, careful not to move too much as I spoke, “I’m so sorry for getting you caught with me.” I felt tears spring to my eyes. “I wish I’d just gotten over it. It’s not like J- it’s not like Day was the first client who’s ever screwed me over.”
“Did you forget the whole B-and-E thing was my idea, Clover? You -” she broke off in a gasp of pain as an arc of energy illuminated her legs. It was true, though, that in my self-loathing I hadn’t remembered her own part in our capture. “If I hadn’t gotten involved we both would have been okay.”
I was licked by several more sparks before EV spoke. “You broke into your owner’s house?” There was a bit of a laugh in her voice.
“He caught us red-handed,” Chantrea said. “And so did his wife, who’s the real scary one.” I wasn’t sure I agreed, but I was glad to have my mind taken off the present.
“My real name actually is Evie,” said EV. “I was abducted from work by someone who sold me to the Resort, so I don’t have a single owner who chose my new name. I don’t know who did, really.”
“My name was Ana,” said TU, “but that was in Croatia. Nothing of my life there remains.” No one was sure what to say to that. Did anything of any of our lives outside this place remain?
In her low, slow voice MZ offered, “I was called Liz. My master owned me for a long time before he joined the Resort. Mostly he kept me in a cage. I haven’t talked to anyone for a long time.” It was an emotional little speech, but her voice was flat and without affect. “I don’t know if he’ll put me back when I’ve been trained.”
“What are we even being trained for?” asked Evie. “What’s so important about being stoic and not reacting to pain?”
“So we can pass the test and not be trained for it anymore,” TU said.
Evie barked a laugh, getting a shock on the tit, the blue-white flash reflecting off the sheen of perspiration covering her dark skin. “For serious, though,” she said when she’d collected herself, “it’s not like the toilet slaves get whipped or electrocuted regularly, at least not as far as we’ve seen.”
“I think you and TU are the only ones with any real chance of being made toilet slaves,” I pointed out. “Certainly I can see where not flinching at pain would be a helpful skill when it comes to Master Day.”
“You don’t think he would want to get a reaction out of us?” Chantrea asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. He -” There was a crackle as I got a shock right to the balls. I couldn’t help writhing in pain, earning me more shocks on the foot and armpit. I lost my train of thought.
We made some effort to talk more, but it was tiring us out more quickly, and the frequent zaps were a huge distraction in any case. So we were mostly silent after that. Soon, my muscles were trembling as I held myself in place through the smooth rotation of the wheel. It didn’t take a lot of strength because of how tightly I was hung, but I couldn’t continue the effort forever. I began getting more and more shocks, and it wasn’t too much longer before I was usually getting shocked multiple times in a row.
As the hours wore on, we all tired out and were barely able to hold ourselves up at all. We were all getting shocked several times in a row before managing to pick ourselves up for just long enough, by our collective reckoning, to most likely reset the value of the penalties. I started having to pee, too, and the pressure from my bladder was one more thing to worry about. All my muscles burned with effort.
After long hours of what had to have been many hundreds of shocks, the lights flickered back on as WH and KG returned. WH turned off the machines while KG inspected each of us for traces of piss. When she gave the all-clear, the two of them worked together to take each of us down from the wheels. I dropped to the cement floor, no more able to stand than any of my classmates and clammy with sweat.
“Mistress?” Evie’s voice was weak.
“Yes, EV?” said WH.
“Did we pass the test?”
“I don’t know. We’ll go over the report when we have you cleaned up, and let you know tomorrow.”
I scarcely had the willpower not to groan. As if I needed any more cause for a sleepless night.
The trainers gave us a few more minutes to recover and then marched us on out. We shambled along behind them to a bathroom, where I was finally allowed sweet release. Despite everything, I still couldn’t completely ignore the embarrassment I always felt at pissing in front of a room full of people.
We got enemas and showers as was normal at the end of the day, and were dressed in cinches and mittens. Then our trainers led us back to the Kennels, where I passed out almost immediately upon getting into my cage.
I was woken up I don’t know how much later by the girl in the cage under mine. We’d been served food, and now that the lights were off my tray was beginning to attract roaches. I ate frantically, spilling a lot of it in the process and bending over to shoo away the bugs with one foot. Falling back to sleep took longer this time. I was still sore all over, but the hour or five - I really wasn’t sure - that I’d slept had been just enough rest that I wasn’t feeling terribly sleepy. I laid on my back, bored, knees bent.
For a while I watched the Kennel’s attendants in their “office,” where, at one end of the room free of cages, they had a couch, a table, and a combination toilet and sink. The two attendants were lying on the couch, working around their leotards to lick each other’s pussies in a “69.” I didn’t have a very good view, but I still wished I could have touched my own erogenous zones. Before getting kidnapped, I had often masturbated to help me fall asleep. Now I hadn’t cum for more than a week.
The lights flicked on as a red-uniformed slave walked into the room with three girls in tow, green cinches around their waists. In an instant, the attendants were standing and helping the dominant slave put the girls into cages, with no sign the two of them had been fucking at all.
Eventually, after many minutes of lying as still as I could and trying to ignore the discomforts that surrounded me, I fell asleep again.
AFTER A BREAKFAST of the same old yellowed meat and wilted vegetables, WH and KG came to take us from our cages. We took a shorter route than normal, up a staircase and to a door in the same section of the complex as the Kennel. When KG announced that we’d passed our test, it wasn’t entirely surprising, but we were all still excited for it. KG grinned at us. “That means, first of all, it’s time to punish you for all the penalties the toilet slaves have awarded you during the first stage of your training!”
I had almost forgotten about the penalties the toilet slaves had mentioned a few times. I’d stopped causing trouble on purpose after only a couple days, given how harshly I was punished for any missteps under the jurisdiction of the trainers. The mentions of penalties by the interchangeable toilet slaves who cleaned me had slipped my mind when they’d ceased. Now, though, I was kicking myself for each unruly fit I’d subjected them to.
“Our top earner this week,” WH took over, glancing down at the clipboard she held, “has been EV, with seven penalties. Right behind her at six is LN.” I shivered in dread for Chantrea, and at the knowledge my name was next. “Tied at four penalties are QC and TU; MZ has none at all. Seems Master Neptune did a good job with her.” Liz didn’t react to the praise.
“So, punishments!” KG said lightly. “You’ve been a terror to the poor toilet slaves, and now they’re going to return the favor. We have booked for today four of the Resort’s specialists in punitive cleansing. Four, because I wanted to take care of dear EV myself.” Evie’s face paled.
KG and WH beckoned us through the door, and we filed in. I hesitated, as I stepped through the threshold, surprised by how warm and humid the air was. And fresh! It was my first taste of fresh air in days.
This bathroom wasn’t anything like the ones we’d been cleaned in all week. The ritual bath house was above ground, with large windows that let in sunlight and fresh air. They were frosted, so what I saw through them was a blur of blue and green. The floor and the bottom third of the walls were tiled in dark stone; the ceiling and upper walls were smooth white brick. A number of ornate pots and planters were clustered by each window. The room’s peaceful air was undercut, though, by the selection of restraint furniture that leaned against the back wall.
The four women waiting there for us wore only red-and-tan bikini bottoms and flats. As they stripped each of us fully naked, KG was stripping out of her catsuit and putting on her own red-and-white bottoms, not bothering with shoes. WH went to lounge by one of the windows.
One of the toilet slaves was a short, dark-skinned woman with a buzz cut whose bare tits swung back and forth when she walked, half a step in front of the other three. “You would be Slave KG, then? I’m Slave-Cleanser Frangipani, and these are Slave-Cleansers Gardenia, Lotus, and Honeysuckle. We’re pleased to help your charges prepare for their next stage of training, and to learn some manners as well!” She seemed genuinely cheerful. Also, I hadn’t known there were any slaves around here with actual names. “First things first,” Frangipani smirked, “let’s get those pores opened up.”
Frangipani slid open an oversized door to reveal a narrow room lined in cedar wood. From it, the slave-cleansers rolled out five small, heavy platforms on little wheels that could swivel around to let them travel in any direction. Each one had a heavy, metal pole set into the center, shaped like a huge crook or question mark. They didn’t look very well balanced, but they stayed upright. Each one had a vertical section a little above knee height, with a curved section on top that swept off center, over the edge of the little platform, and then back over the center, reaching almost to the ceiling in height.
The slave-cleansers mounted each of us on one of these stands. Evie was first, and was stood over the center of the vertical section of pole, the rest curving in front of her and overhead. Then she stepped down as Frangipani bolted an attachment to the stand at the appropriate height. Now the slave-cleansers worked together to put her back onto the stand, only this time she was mounted on a massive dildo sticking up from the center of the stand! They worked it into her pussy with the help of a little lube, leaving her standing there, unable to step high enough to get off the phallus. Her position was secured when they wrapped a thin wire around her wrists and tethered it to the top of the pole, holding her hands overhead. When Evie was all mounted up, they rolled the stand back into the wood-paneled room. I noticed that the very top of the stand slid into a rail built into the room’s ceiling, which would prevent the stand from falling over.
Chantrea got the same treatment, and then it was my turn. Since I didn’t have a vagina (or at least not an accessible one, as it were) they turned me away from the curved section of pole and used a different type of dildo attachment to allow my asshole to be used instead. I gasped vocally as it hit my G-spot and felt myself blush bright red, even though no one had taken much notice. I was wheeled into line with Evie and Chantrea. TU came next, and then Liz, who was mounted backward like me. The air in the strange room was hot and moist.
One of the slave-cleansers used the narrow aisle left between the stand-platforms and the wall, placing a five-gallon tank of water on a high shelf at the back. It had five rubber tubes attached, which she threaded through small hooks in the poles so that each of us had one end hanging in front of us. I could lean forward, bite the nozzle to open it, and drink from the tube.
“We’re all set, so let’s get started,” Frangipani said. “You girls will remain in the sauna for an amount of time proportionate with the number of penalties you have coming to you.”
“Except you, MZ,” KG added. “You can sort of kick on the door from where you are to let us know whenever you want to come out.”
Frangipani slid the large door shut. As it closed, she added, “Oh, and be sure to breathe in that steam. Not that I expect otherwise.”
As soon as the door closed, the room began to heat up. It was dark, but my eyes adjusted to the dim red glow coming from the heating element set into the wall. Because I was mounted facing the opposite direction from Chantrea, the two of us were facing each other. She gave me a sheepish smile.
“Hi,” I said, speaking softly so as not to be heard through the door. Of course, it was an unbelievably awkward position to converse from, completely exposed and straddled on an enormous dildo. But it felt more awkward not to say anything.
If she was going to say anything, it was interrupted by the hiss of hot steam pouring into the room through grilles near the top of the walls. Also by the loud buzz of five dildoes bursting into vibration. We all made noises of surprise. The vibrator was powerful, and I found myself panting with arousal and the effort that came with not putting too much weight on the thin wire holding my hands up. Now I understood why Frangipani had sounded so amused when she told us to “breathe in that steam” - the stimulation made it impossible not to.
Only a couple minutes later, I heard Liz moan in ecstacy and then, apparently satisfied, knock at the door. It slid open for just long enough for her platform to be pulled out.
My own orgasm was creeping up on me. I watched Chantrea, who was moaning loudly. She bounced slightly up and down on her dildo, setting her boobs jiggling. I realized that, in this moment, I wanted to touch her, to fuck with her instead of having to watch while we were both fucked over. I thought maybe I saw some of the same feeling in her eyes, when they were open.
Soon I came, which was pleasant. But there was no post-coital rest for me. A renewed sweat broke out over my body as the dildo continued to fuck me just as hard. I took a long drink of water, but that wasn’t much of a respite. Chantrea orgasmed minutes later, groaning deep with pain and pleasure.
As time wore on, the high temperature sapped my energy quickly, as did a second orgasm. After that, the vibrations became more uncomfortable than pleasurable to my poor abused insides. I was putting more weight on the dildo, too, and on my wrists, as I lost strength in my legs. All the while, I was sweating buckets in the oppressive heat.
It felt like ages before the door opened again and TU and I were pulled out of the sauna. When they took me down from the stand, I flopped to the floor and gasped for breath, gulping cool air. Not too much later - although I’m sure it felt like much longer to them - Chantrea and then Evie were retrieved from the sauna. Both were practically insensate.
Our next “treatment” was prefaced by each of us getting strapped face-up to a flat wooden table. “Now that we’ve cleaned out your pores,” Frangipani declared, “we’re going to get you all depilated. This treatment isn’t a punishment, but MZ still won’t be subject to it since her hair’s already removed.”
Evie was the first to be subjected to the depilation treatment. I couldn’t see very well from my vantage point, but the slave-cleansers used a spray bottle to get her skin wet. Then each slave wielded something like a large flashlight, running it across Evie’s skin like they would a razor if they were shaving her, each slave-cleanser handling a different part of her body.
When they did it to me, I could smell a strong antiseptic smell from the liquid they’d sprayed on me, and it felt tacky on my skin. The “flashlights” were actually shaped more like electric razors, with a rectangular head that shone bright pink light on my skin as one edge was run across my skin. The sensation wasn’t painful, but the light sort of prickled, like when my hands or feet fell asleep. Then the end of the head would rub across the skin, and the prickling would stop. I had grown some stubble on my legs, stomach, and face since Mona Dormer had used a hair removal cream on me several days ago. But that sloughed off instantly at the touch of the implement. When they had depilated every inch of skin, they flipped me over, strapped me down again, and repeated the process on my back.
With five slave-cleansers working together, it wasn’t too long before we were all permanently hairless, excepting our scalps and eyebrows of course. “Now we’re going to give you a good scrubbing,” Frangipani said. She had a giant bowl set on the ground. She poured a couple different ingredients into it from unlabeled bottles and a large bag, then stirred it together with the help of KG.
Each of us five was tended to by one of the slave-cleansers, who began slathering the mixture across our bodies. I knew why KG picked Evie - I was sure she would be especially rough - but not why Frangipani chose me. Regardless, she used a large rubber spatula to spread the stuff, a slush of large flakes of salt mixed with liquids, smelling strongly of ginger. I eyed Frangipani’s big tits, swinging gently as she covered first my stomach, moving outward to my tits and hips and neck, then my arms and legs. My entire front and sides were covered, except above the chin and the tiny bare spot at my clit.
By the time she was finished, I was beginning to feel a prickling heat against my skin from the ginger oil. It was only when she began rubbing it in that I cried out in pain, along with my classmates. I realized the flakes of salt were rubbing at my skin, exposing tender new layers that were especially sensitive to the burn of the ginger. Soon I was pulling in vain against my restraints. It was especially bad when Frangipani massaged the salt into the sides of my dick, and when she rubbed it into my nipples.
We had to endure the burn for several minutes, by which point we were all panting and groaning, except Liz. TU and I were the next to get rinsed off. Cool water was poured over my body, leaving me sighing with relief. Then, minutes later, Chantrea and Evie got rinsed too.
They flipped us over on our stomachs and strapped us down again, repeating the ginger scrub on our backs. It wasn’t quite as bad this time, as neither my nipples nor my genitals were subjected to the treatment. Still, it was a massive relief when the water was poured over me again. I wanted to cry myself, hearing Chantrea and Evie continue to stifle their cries of pain.
When all of us had been scrubbed and rinsed, the slave-cleansers washed our hair. Frangipani massaged shampoo into my hair and scalp, then a conditioner. Leaving it in, she flipped me over once more and smeared a thick cream onto my face, smelling strongly of mint. I was braced for some terrible sensation, but it seemed to be designed for skincare alone. She carefully rinsed and combed my hair, then washed off the mask. She finished by applying and rubbing in no less than six different creams and tonics into my skin across my entire body.
When we were all finished and allowed to stand up, I had to admit that, punishment aside, this had been quite a spa day. The harrowing week we’d been through of torture and lack of sleep seemed to have slipped away from our faces, and all five of us were practically glowing.
I watched KG change into her bodysuit. “You’ve done a good job with them,” Frangipani was telling a bored WH.
“I think they’ve got it into their heads by now that the toilet slaves aren’t their enemies,” WH said as she went to each of us with long hair and gathered it into a high ponytail. “Present company possibly accepted.” She gave our group an amused look.
While they were talking, I sidled over to one of the open windows and peeked out, blinking into the bright light. The contrast between the dungeons where I’d spent the last week and my first real look at the Resort proper was startling. Clusters of beautiful little tile-roofed buildings were scattered across the slope down to where sand dunes and beaches rose from the bright blue sea. A few small boats floated between here and the horizon. A paradise, I supposed, for the masters of this place.
Our trainers thanked the slave-cleansers and led us out of the chamber. “Now, girls,” WH said as we walked, “we have an appointment with a Resort member. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to show the utmost respect and be on your best behavior in her presence.”
WH led the way to a nearby room with a white-draped photography set against one wall. A short woman in a purple blouse and black pants was fiddling with the camera. She was the first person I’d seen since my initiation ceremony who wasn’t wearing a collar. A slave in a pink dress was adjusting the lighting setup.
“Lady Wednesday,” said WH as we came in. She and KG cast their gazes downward. I avoided meeting the woman’s eyes, feeling she might take offense.
“You’re just on time, slave…?”
“WH, Mistress, and my partner is slave-trainer KG.”
Wednesday nodded. “We’re just about set up. You know the drill - one of you will take care of the scanning booth, the other will help me with the photos.”
“Yes, Mistress,” WH said. She conferred briefly with KG, who took Chantrea, Liz, and TU over to a small cubicle in one corner of the room. Evie and I were left with WH. “You’re up first,” she told me. She led me onto the photo set, a section of the room with a featureless white sheet covering the wall and floor, surrounded by lighting equipment and cameras. “Do you see that prompt screen?” It was a boxy monitor among the lighting setup. “It will show you the positions you need to stand in. Just obey the lady and you’ll be fine.” She went back over to where Evie was still standing.
I was left standing in the stark white space, bright lights and digital eyes on me from every direction, fully naked except for a collar. I shifted uneasily, wanting to cover myself but knowing it would be met with reprimand or punishment.
After what felt like a long time, Wednesday looked up from the tripod-mounted camera directly in front of me. “All right, let’s begin. Assume the position indicated on the screen.” The prompt screen showed an image of a featureless woman, and I copied it. “Legs a little farther apart, elbows a little farther out.” I was standing up straight with my hands held up next to my shoulders, palms forward. “Open your fists. Good.” A burst of clicks came from the camera. “Turn to your left, same position.” She got shots of me from the front, back, and sides, then we moved on to the next stance.
She got shots of me in a few different standing positions, then picked up the camera and got up close. “Neutral expression,” she commanded as she aimed the lens at my face. I did my best. She took a few shots, then had me smile and took a few more. Then she knelt and took a few pictures of my dick. WH met my eyes, silently warning me to hold still. Next, Wednesday took some shots of my ass, even making me bend over and hold my cheeks open so she could see the hole. That one had me blushing hot, head to toe. A few pictures of my boobs and feet, and she was done.
Evie took my place on the set, TU standing by WH and watching, while I joined KG’s group in the corner. Chantrea was in the booth when I got there, but soon the doors opened and KG sent her over to WH.
The inside of the booth was transparent, revealing wires and components inside the walls, floor, and ceiling. KG made Liz stand in its center, legs apart with her feet lined up with marks on the floor. She also had to grip handles above her head. When KG approved her position, the door slid closed and a soft hum came from the booth.
I waited a while with KG, watching Evie pose for the camera. By the time Wednesday had started in on the close-up shots, the door of the booth slid open. Liz, none the worse for wear, exited and joined the line waiting to get photographed.
“Last up,” KG commented, guiding me into the booth. I shivered at the touch of her gloved hand, and she gave me a peculiar look. “It’s a 3D scan,” she said. “It’ll be used to make clothes for you, so trust me when I say we both want it to get an accurate reading. Just hold still and relax.”
When my hands and feet were in place, the door slid closed and lines of red and green light swept up and down through the walls. I shut my eyes against the bright flashing. I had practice at holding still in much worse situations. The several minutes during which I was in the booth were actually the most peaceful I’d had in a while.
When I was done, I was allowed to sit on the floor as I waited for my classmates to get photographed. Liz was the last on the set. When Wednesday was finished with her, she dismissed our group. We followed KG and WH out of the room.
It was only late afternoon, but we were brought back to the Kennel early. A short day, WH called it, although being confined in a little cage for a few extra hours only felt like a break compared to practically everything else that had been inflicted on us here.
As our trainers left the Kennel, KG grinned at me. “Big day tomorrow. Get your rest while you can.” She exited, leaving us to our cages and cockroaches, and I leaned against the wall of my cage, exhausted. Big day tomorrow...